Narrow Escape
by Eliza4892
Summary: After the rescue, the survivors end up at Seattle Grace. Crossover with Grey's Anatomy.
1. Narrow Escape

The lights here are too bright. I've spent the past few months in the sun so you'd think a little electricity wouldn't bother me. You would be wrong. Somehow I have to squint to be able to see under the harsh fluorescent lights that seem to be everywhere. I don't get why they need so many, the glaring only makes everything look worse than it is.

Bad weather diverted the plane that was supposed to take us to Los Angeles. The one place that is perpetually sunny is getting rained on like we did on the island. The only thing more ironic is where we were diverted to. Seattle. Where it always rains, or at least it did when I lived here. Today the skies are clear and blue, and they people in the airport were upbeat and cheery. They're not now but then again I am sitting in a hospital, and that's not exactly the happiest place.

Most of us are stuck in the ER, so they can fix whatever physical injuries we have. I'd be just fine on my own, without any medical help. I've only got a few cuts and bruises, although there's one deep scratch on my cheek that will probably need stitches. But I didn't say anything, I just went with everyone else. I don't need to draw any unnecessary attention to myself because then they might get curious. They don't know who I am. It's been so long since they stopped looking, and wrote us off as dead that they've managed to misplace the manifest for the time being. You would think they would be a little more careful what with a fugitive on board. Not that I'm complaining.

There's been so much hustle and bustle that no one's bothered me yet. Other people, some survivors mixed in with what I assume is the hospitals usual traffic, are much worse off than I am. Scott, or Steve, nobody can remember which is still alive and most don't bother anymore, has a broken arm. Charlie's going to need those stitches taken out since Jack never got around to it. Someone should probably look at Sawyer's shoulder and make it sure it healed okay. And I don't really mind. I never liked doctors when I was a child, and that didn't change as I got older. Jack thinks it's funny, and reminds me all the time that he is one. He's not a doctor to me though; I don't see him as one. Doctors give bad news, and put on fake smiles to say that everything will be fine when it really won't. Jack knows I hate that, so he just gives everything to me straight now. No sugarcoating.

When I think of doctors, I think of grumpy old men in white lab coats, with charts full of useless information. But it's a woman who first spots me, dressed in blue scrubs, her dirty blonde hair tied back. She starts over toward me and I curse myself for making eye contact with her.

"No one's gotten to you yet?" The woman asks, when she comes to a stop in front of the bed I'm seated on. She looks tired, and I wonder how long it's been since she's had any sleep.

"I've been avoiding everyone pretty well." I reply, and I must sound like I'm being sarcastic but I'm not. There's been several times where I almost bolted to the door and ran.

She looks me over, noting the numerous marks that mar my skin, her eyes falling on the cut that needs stitches. She nods, knowingly. "You don't like needles?" Next to me she starts looking for the things she needs to sew me up.

"I don't like doctors." I'm not afraid to admit it, even in the face of one. She actually laughs, kind of stilted, like she thinks she shouldn't, but a laugh all the same. "Sounds childish, doesn't it?"

"A little." She says it in a way that's not poking fun so much as agreeing. "What's your name?" Her hands move to my forehead to examine the wound.

"Kate…" I pause, about to give my last name but I think better of it, remembering that they don't know me. I can be anyone I want to be. "Kate Shephard." I could've said Kate Ford. But he's been in jail before and this woman is jotting down the name I gave her on the chart. Jack is safer as far as I know. He's a doctor for God's sake, and far too much of a perfectionist to have done anything wrong. So I say Shephard.

Her hands still before they begin writing and she looks at me like she's about to ask something that's going to sound weird. I don't care what it is as long as she keeps on thinking that I'm Kate Shephard and not Kate Austen. "You don't know a Derek Shepherd, right?"

I don't even know anybody named Derek. I shake my head, furrowing my eyebrows slightly in curiosity. "No." She writes my name down, and then goes back to work on my face. I wince the first time the needle pricks my skin, but not any time afterwards.

There's a long pause where neither of us say anything, and she's chewing at her lip in a such a way that tells me she wants to explain herself. I kind of want to hear it, if only to take my mind off the needle going in and out of my skin. Finally, she says, "Sorry, it's just that was my ex's name and the last person who showed up here with the name Shepherd turned out to be his wife."

And I thought I had baggage. Well I do, but this woman could probably give me a run for my money. I want to say something to that, it's just what do you say. I mean I don't even know her name. My eyes search for a name tag and it's a few seconds before I find one. Meredith Grey. Mouthing the name, I commit it to memory. Not that I think I'll ever need it again because as soon as she's done here I'm leaving and I'm not turning back for anything. Jack's going to hate me for it. Sawyer might understand but he won't like it either. They're not enough to make me stay. Almost but not.

"This is a pretty bad cut. How did you get it?" Meredith presses a little too hard and I grit my teeth. I recognize that she's making small talk to distract from her earlier example of too much information and, ordinarily, I'd do my best to help that along but now she was inquiring about the island and I'd be happy to just forget it even though I know I never will. "I mean you're one of them, right? One of the survivors."

Slowly, I nod, my eyes darting down as I speak, "I hit my head a week ago. We had a doctor on the island, but supplies were running low do I didn't bother to do anything with it." Anything but let my hair fall into my face anytime Jack was around so he didn't see, and didn't ask.

"How did you hit it?" She asks an awful lot of questions. It's her job though, so she can be thorough. There's suspicion in her voice, and the scrutinizing look in her eyes makes me think she's thinking it was someone and not something that did this to me. I was on an island, to escape unscathed is near impossible.

"I was getting fruit from the trees. All the low growing stuff was already picked clean, so I had to go pretty high. I lost my balance reaching for a piece of fruit and I fell. It wasn't bad—I've fallen farther—but it was like a ten foot drop. Maybe more." It was more, or it would've been had not caught another branch on the way down.

"Are you sure all you got was a scratch? That sounds like a bad fall." There's concern in her voice and I wonder if all doctors are like this. Constantly worried, thinking in terms of the worst case scenario. "I can get someone to take a closer look and make sure that's all it is."

Great. More attention. That's not what I want or need. "I'm fine, really. I just want to leave." My fingers tap nervously on the metal slides on the bed, nails making light clicking noises against it.

"You can't. They want everyone to stay here." Meredith tells me. "I think they're looking for somebody." She doesn't realize she just gave me the heads up that I'm about to be caught, until I stiffen. That tiny reaction must have been all she needed because her eyes meet mine, and surprise flashes through them. "So you know what I'm talking about."

I don't show any signs to back up her statement. I've already given away too much. But she's already sure of herself. There's really no way out of this, because she just called me on my charade, and the police or the FBI or whoever deals with this stuff, are probably either here or on their way. They know there was a fugitive on the plane and they're going to find out it was me. It's the first time I can't think of a way out.

"I think we're done here Ms. Shephard," she glances up at me, carefully, and then continues, "You're free to leave if you want." Meredith stands, and takes off her gloves, tossing them in the trash. She gives me a look as she does so, and it's pointed: I'm letting you go, so run now or get caught. A second later, and she's tossed my charts into the trash as well. It's like I never came here. I don't understand why she's doing this. "Have a nice day."

Rising easily, I walk calmly to the door of the ER, on my way out, but look back at her before I leave. She's already moved on to another patient, this one unfamiliar, and therefore obviously not from the crash. It doesn't seem like she's even thinking about the fact that she just contributed to the escape of a felon. I want to say something to thank her, but somehow that would make this different. This way she could still pretend she didn't know. Maybe that's how she can live with what she just did. So I don't say a thing, I just go, keeping a steady pace as I walk through the corridors and out the main exit. To anyone else it would seem I like I didn't have anywhere particularly important to be. I don't look like I'm running.

By the time I've found a car with no alarm system, and that's old enough for me to hot wire it without a moments pause, I can see the cops pull up. The cars are unmarked, and they don't wear uniforms, but I know who they are. I can just tell. They don't notice me as I drive off down the road, and it will be a few hours before they figure out that I'm not in the hospital at all. I won't get caught yet, and I owe that to a woman I knew for all of ten minutes. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm not sure how I feel about anything. But I murmur a quiet thanks, cross my fingers that they never find out what she did, and hit the gas, aiming to hit the Idaho border before nightfall.


	2. Not One To Care

**Due to the interest in the first part of this story I decided to do a continuation of it. The second part is Shannon POV, although I'm dropping the first person aspect, and changing it to third. Let me know what you think and I'll work on the next part. **

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She'd been sitting in the exam room for a little over forty minutes. Since she had no obvious injuries, they'd stuck her here so someone could check her out after all the pressing cases had been taken care of. The redheaded nurse had promised her someone would be in shortly to see her. So much for that. This wasn't the longest she'd ever waited though. She'd once spent two hours in the waiting room alone. Still she was a bit irate by the time the door swung open, and a man looked in, apparently listening to a woman who was barking orders at him. Names and room numbers of his next patients if she had to guess.

When he turned and closed the door behind him, half-leaning against it in relief and exhaustion, she got her first good look at him. He was kind of cute in a way, with short brown hair and a baby-faced look about him. He gave her an uneasy smile as he came towards her. "I'm Dr. O'Malley. I'm just going to check you out and make sure there's nothing wrong."

She could tell by his body language and overall demeanor that he was the type who would get nervous around girls like her. Some of Boone's friends had been like that, and she used to take full advantage of it, flirting with them and watching them stutter and stumble. "You're a doctor? What did you do, skip a couple of grades?"

He laughed, the way people who are less amused and more embarrassed do. "I'm older than I look. But I get that a lot you know."

"Good to know." Shannon smiled her best mischievous smile and she could see the implications of the action running through his mind. He was very expressive she was quickly learning.

He started the exam after that, checking her heart, seeing if any of her scrapes were infected. They weren't. The bulk of it was wordless because it seemed he had quickly figured out that if he remained quiet then she didn't have anything to play off of. Still, the was something weighing heavy on his mind, that much she could tell, and she wanted to know what it was.

"Okay, out with it," she finally said, tired of waiting for him to broach the subject.

"What?" He asked, looking at her, a small frown on his face.

She resisted the urge to smile because he was actually edging on really cute now that he was all confused, but she wasn't about to let him know that. "I know there's something you want to ask but you're trying to be all professional and stuff. I don't care too much for formality so just say whatever it is."

"It's just why would they be keeping all of you under a lockdown here?" She couldn't see his face since he was changing the old, dirty bandage on her leg out for a clean one. One of the nastier cuts she had gotten. "Wouldn't they have done that earlier?"

It was her turn to be confused. "What do mean lockdown? We can't leave?" Shannon hadn't heard any of this before but then again he was the first person she had seen in what was nearing an hour. Things could have changed.

"Yeah, we're not supposed to let anyone leave until the police give the go ahead. They haven't said why yet so I thought maybe you'd know." He glanced at the door a moment before looking back at her like maybe he wasn't allowed to talk to anyone about it either.

She had to think a moment before she could put two and two together. Kate. Of course they were looking for the fugitive. She hesitated to make the fact that she knew why known but she could see in his eyes that he had already noticed the change in her expression. "I really shouldn't tell you."

"Just tell me there's not like a murderer or something wandering the halls." He spoke in a joking tone but she couldn't stop her eyes from darting away. His worst case scenario was their reality. She gathered herself enough to look back at him with some semblance of amusement, but it was too late and he'd already noticed her slip up. "A murderer?" His voice was now down to a harsh whisper.

"I think so." She replied, noticing he looked about ready to launch himself out the door to go find the nearest authorities. "I don't really know for sure. She never really came out and told us what she did. She seemed harmless though." His eyes widened and it occurred to her that the inclusion of said murderer's gender might have been a bad move. She was talking way too much. "Shit."

"You have to tell someone, you have to tell the police." He said, looking at the door again, waiting for either the cops to show up, or the fugitive, whom he was probably imagining as a big boned she-devil named Bertha, to walk through the door with her gun poised. Even if Kate walked in he probably wouldn't give her a second glance.

"No, I really don't. Trust me it won't help." Kate may seem harmless but Shannon knew her to be very sneaky and manipulative. She was probably already gone anyway. "And you can't tell either."

"I have to." He protested. "You know how many rules I would be breaking. How many laws." This is the point where the nervous types like him go annoying. They were always so scared of doing the wrong thing.

"Then forget that you ever heard me say it. There's no proof that you did." She glanced up along the walls, looking for video cameras. "They're not taping this right? Hospitals don't have cameras in exam rooms."

He nodded, "Doctor patient confidentiality. But I still have to tell."

"You're one of those guys." She observed.

"What's that mean?" He asked, unease apparent in his voice.

"A stickler for rules. You always do what's right according to other people instead of yourself." Shannon was familiar with those sort of people. Jack was one. Boone had been well on his way to becoming one. In her opinion it was a flaw but others saw it as the mark of a good law-abiding person.

"I don't always…" he cut himself off because he knew it was a lie. "It's just if they find out that I knew that's like aiding a criminal."

"What are they going to do? Read your mind?" She asked, amused by his nervousness. "Just keep it to yourself. Pretend you never asked, It's not like they can go back and verify it or whatever."

He tilted his head a bit to the side. "Can I ask you a question?" She didn't understand people who asked that. It was redundant, asking if they could ask a question. She nodded anyway, curious. "Are you friends with her or something? Is that why you won't tell me who she is?"

"No, we're not friends." Shannon said, like the whole idea was absolutely ridiculous. It was almost automatic. "We just…were on that island so long you feel like everyone is…family." She snorted, shaking her head at herself. "That sounds stupid, I know—"

"No, I get it." He replied, and she gave him a quizzical expression. "I wouldn't have even talked to most of the people I'm friends with now except that we had to because of work. I don't like what they do sometimes and I don't understand the choices that they make. But they are my family."

She watched his eyes carefully, waiting for his gaze to falter but it never did. By all accounts it should have; nothing about him pointed towards him being a particularly strong-willed person. He was supposed to be one of those people who just didn't get her. No one got her. And yet he understood. Perfectly in fact. It confused her, unnerved her.

"You're not going to tell are you?" She asked in a quiet voice. There was emotion in her voice that hadn't been there when she'd said the words in her head.

He sighed in such a way that told her this was just killing him. "No, I won't."

Exhaling the breath she had been holding in anticipation of his reply, she let a smile up her features. It was one of the few real smiles she had given in the past year or so. "Thank you." She told him as she watched him blush and run a hand through his mop of brown hair.

He didn't seem to know what to say after that point, and he glanced again to the door, perhaps to think, but instead finding a woman walking down the hall towards their exam room. "Um, I've got to go," he held up her chart, almost as some kind of explanation. "But I'll be back in awhile to let you know when you can leave."

She nodded in response, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly self-conscious by how raw and open she'd been in front of a perfect stranger. Who got her. It'd been so long since anyone had actually cared about what she said much less the meaning behind it. Not since Boone, and sometimes she wondered if her even understood.

The door closed quietly and she could hear him start talking to the woman outside. Something about the cops. Shannon bit her lip and hoped he kept his word, feeling stupid for caring in the first place. She didn't even really like Kate. It shouldn't matter what happened to her.

Truthfully it did matter. And she did care. She cared if Kate got caught. She cared if Charlie and Claire were going to stop dancing around each other and just get together. She cared about whether or not Walt had found Vincent before they left the island; Walt had seemed so upset at the prospect of leaving his dog behind. It didn't make sense. It wasn't in her nature. She only cared about herself. Wasn't that what everyone else always said?

Lying back onto the exam table, she listened to him tell the woman that he had no idea what the cops were doing there, then seamlessly shift the conversation to matters that had absolutely nothing to do with fugitives and plane crashes. And she wished she wasn't so relieved that he had kept his mouth shut.


End file.
